


Where the Sky Meets the Sea

by hail_writes



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Connor is a sweetie, Connor-51, Connor-54, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, connor learning to become a human, elements of domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:28:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24332098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hail_writes/pseuds/hail_writes
Summary: It’s been nearly a year since the deviant uprising--since Markus and his followers protested peacefully for android rights and deviancy spread like a wild virus. Rose Huggins, an old friend of Hank Anderson, had helped along the sidelines, quietly doing all she could to aid the newly established people. And after months of hard work on both sides, androids and humans found some semblance of peace . . .But when sporadic disappearances occur and strange evidence begins to show up at the DCPD, everything is flipped on its head.And Rose, for better or for worse, will be its turning point.(Currently on hiatus--be back soon!)
Relationships: Connor (Detroit: Become Human)/Reader, Connor/OC, Connor/Original Character(s), Connor/Original Female Character(s), Connor/Reader, Hank Anderson & Connor, Hank Anderson & Connor & Sumo, Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Comments: 20
Kudos: 40





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to WTSMTS, aka the dbh fic I’ve been planning on making for an eternity. I honestly don’t know how people will take this fic, and if it’ll even gain traction at all, but it doesn’t matter--I’ve been having fun making it, and I wanted to share it with you anyways! Enjoy <3
> 
>  **CHAPTER WARNING:** Content in this chapter deals with some elements of domestic abuse, and thus may be triggering to some readers. If you or a loved one are experiencing any sort of domestic abuse, please do not hesitate to reach out to those who can help and offer support. We are here for you, and we love you.

Rose Huggins had been feeling like she was being watched. 

Lately, it had been as if the hairs on the back of her neck and the goosebumps on her arms knew something she didn’t--especially at night. She didn’t know why. 

Taking the backroads, though sometimes revolting, proved to be a much faster method at getting home in the evenings. And so after her shift at Jimmy’s Bar or the rundown Thai restaurant next door, Rose would slip through the back and onto the garbage-ridden alleys, avoiding the main streets completely. 

Sure, it was unnerving, and she used to jump at any rat crossing near her feet or trash bag shifting in the breeze. But after two years into working both jobs, she came to learn that the dreary atmosphere was better than being late. She had a dull ache in her pinkie finger and an Urgent Care visit on her record to prove for that. 

That night, a regular from Jimmy’s had slipped out the door behind her and managed to catch her off guard. He had drunkenly stumbled after her for the past few blocks, somehow keeping track of her despite his twisted footing. And the comments he threw at her, at the bystanders, at the world in general--

It was safe to say that Rose wanted to vomit. 

Had it been early enough into the night, she would have sprinted to the train station and avoided him altogether. But it was too late by now, and she didn’t have the cash for a cab, so had to resort to simply keep him at a safe distance as she led him away from her home. At least he was too drunk to notice she was practically hugging the main roads. 

Rose had managed to lose him for good when she finally calmed. Her clutch on her keys loosened enough to swing back and forth—she was back on track to the house now; maybe a few minutes away. Close enough to see the DCPD lights and parked police cars near the main road. If she had time, she could have possibly stopped by, perhaps say hello to Hank Anderson and Gavin Reed—likely still there at this hour— and maybe string enough words together to have a conversation with Connor. 

Connor, who had shown up a year ago to catch deviating androids, only to become a deviant himself. Connor, who practically became Hank’s own son after the revolution calmed down enough.  _ Connor _ , who made her throat constrict and her chest feel like it was going to collapse every time she saw him. 

The thought of seeing them--seeing  _ him _ \--was tempting, and she slowed to a halt at the steps of the DCPD. But then her pinky ached again, as if a steady reminder, and she decided that stopping by wouldn’t be the best idea. So she hurried home, ignoring the buzzing phone in her back pocket and the omnipresent feeling that she was being watched. 

But no matter how much the back of her neck itched and how many creaks and shuffles sounded right behind her, she never found anything. Only the wind, and the snow, and the distant sounds of Detroit.

She managed to reach the townhouse safely, climbing up the steps and twisting the key into the lock before noticing that the door was already slightly ajar. 

It was strange--her father always bolted up, even when he was home. He was always paranoid.

But the television was blasting from inside and kitchen lights were on, so Rose knew her father was  _ there _ , at least. 

So she cracked open the door and slipped through, careful to avoid the street lights shining into the doorway. 

“You’re  _ late _ ,” a voice sounded from the couch. Harsh and gravelly, as if sifting through cobbled dirt. Something stirred in the pit of Rose’s stomach, twisting, but she snuffed it out without thinking twice. 

“Sorry, Father. Work kept me a little bit later than usual,” she lied through her teeth, pulling her shoes off and placing them neatly in her corner. And then she headed directly for the kitchen, pulling open the fridge and grabbing a can of beer from the bottom shelf. 

“Well tell your work to piss off next time, Rosy,” her father grumbled. But then he heard the beer top opening and huffed, leaning further into the couch and holding a waiting hand out. 

Her chest seized at every can she gave him, every bottle he demanded with an open hand. But it was usually only at night--and he stopped talking, at least. Stopped berating her, for just a moment longer. Better drunk and incapacitated on the couch than drunk and throwing things. 

Or drunk, and missing. That was the worst one. 

Her father took the can and inspected it, slandering the brand name. “Why’d you have to get  _ this  _ one, Rosy? You know better,” he snapped, even though he already had a few of the same cans empty around his lap. Either way, he was the one who had bought it—or had stolen; she didn’t really know how he got his supply anymore. All she knew is that she never bought anything herself. 

“I’m sorry,” she said anyway. 

He merely grunted and sipped from it, ignoring her completely. She dropped her hand from the back of the couch, a breath escaping her—but then fingers shot out and gripped her wrist, squeezing. It was nothing she couldn’t handle — but his thumb was pressing on a bruise through her shirt sleeve, and it made her breath catch. 

He squeezed for a moment longer, sighing. “Clean this mess up,” was all he ended up saying, releasing her wrist to gesture to the pile of trash he sat in. But then he fell silent, and Rose nodded, leaving him to float between realities for a while. 

She crept upstairs, head low until she reached her room at the end of the hallway. Her chest heaved out a sigh, her shoulders dropping as she walked into the bedroom. 

And as she changed into her painting clothes and prepped her easel and paints in the corner of the room, and as she painted until she could finally  _ feel _ , Rose longed for something other than this life she had put herself in. 

* * *

Whenever a case of his wasn’t improving, Gavin Reed became one of the usuals at Jimmy’s Bar. 

When she first met him over a year ago, Rose constantly had to fight the twinge of annoyance every time he chatted her up. She had to bite her tongue to keep from huffing when he would vent about  _ androids _ , of all creatures, infiltrating the DCPD. But then, through his arrogance and ranting, he would sometimes pause. He would ask her about  _ her _ day, about what  _ she  _ did, and genuinely seem interested in it. Something not a lot of people did that often. 

So she would withstand his . . .  _ Gavin- _ ness, every time he came in. If only for those small moments that he acted like a decent human being. 

Today, though, didn’t seem like it was a good day for him—if the way he stormed in fuming said anything, at least. 

He ignored Rose for a minute as she started making his regular, fists clenched against the table and head bowed. From what she could see, every word in the dictionary was spewing from his mouth. 

Eventually though, after Rose was finished helping a few others, Gavin lifted his head. A fresh bruise adorned his cheek. 

“Bad day?” Rose asked quietly, raising a brow as she set a glass of whiskey in front of him. Neat, as he liked it. 

Gavin sighed, downing the glass before pausing. “Got no idea, sweetheart.” He signaled to bring more, so she poured him a double rye. 

“Let me guess,” Rose said. “Nines?” 

If she had brought up androids six months ago, Gavin would’ve spewed expletives and cursed androids--usually one specific  _ Connor _ \--until her ears bled. But then he was assigned a new partner, Nines, Connor’s prototype successor, and he . . . well,  _ cooled _ . He wasn’t necessarily nice to Connor, by all means, but he grew comfortable with Nines and his ever-present company.

Though Gavin would never actually _ admit _ it.

Gavin pointed at Rose and clicked his tongue, before collapsing in on himself again. “I think he’s turning into a housecat,” he said. “He never  _ leaves _ \--” 

Rose looked around, nodding to the Nines-less bar.

“He’s outside,” Gavin muttered. At that, Rose outright  _ laughed _ .

She sobered herself enough to shoot him a look. “That’s not new, though,” she pointed out. And it was true--Gavin often complained about Nines trailing after him constantly, both in and outside of work.  _ Some sort of annoying guardian _ , he had said. But it wasn’t something Rose hadn’t heard of before--no, something  _ else _ was bothering him. Something that made him much more sour than normal.

Gavin gave a thousand-mile stare past Rose’s shoulder. “There’s another one.” 

Another android--at the station, she guessed.

That would be . . .  _ three _ then, working at the DCPD. Connor, and then Nines—and now another one, evidently. 

Another RK model, she presumed. 

By how hard Gavin was clenching the glass in his hands, she knew she was right. Another “Connor” walking around in the precinct; another “Connor” for him to get used to. 

It was nearly a year after the uprising, and Gavin wasn’t cold towards androids any longer--but he wasn’t exactly  _ warm _ , either. 

“Well, at least you get a break for now, right?” Rose tried to lighten up the mood, offering him another drink. He took it without thinking twice. 

But then Gavin bit down, a muscle flickering in his jaw, and ground out, “Not for long.” 

Rose was nearly about to question him before the doorbell jingled, two silhouettes slipping through the doorway. 

And then Hank and Connor appeared in the dim lighting, Hank calling out a “Hey, kid,” and Connor giving a polite wave. Rose smiled in return, trying to level her breathing at seeing Connor--it had been a while, anyway.

In front of her, Gavin clenched his hand around the glass even tighter — if that was even possible, at this point. He stared at her arm, heaving a deep sigh. 

“ _ Well _ , if it isn’t Hank and the tin can,” Gavin slurred, seemingly more exhausted than miffed. At least he wasn’t biting; Rose wasn’t in the mood to break up a fight tonight.

Even though Hank and Connor weren’t affected by him—in fact, Hank seemed  _ amused _ at his ex-protege—Rose still cringed at the nickname. 

Connor, unperturbed, greeted them. “Hello, Detective Reed,” was all he said before turning to Rose, stepping around Gavin. “Hello, Rosalind.” 

“ _ Rose _ ,” she corrected him, still smiling and ignoring Gavin’s visible irritation. No one ever called her Rosalind, save her own mother. And that was nearly a decade ago. 

Hank scoffed, throwing a hand against Connor’s shoulder. “You don’t have to be so professional during work. I mean, how many times does she have to tell you, kid? It’s been like, what—a year?” 

Connor didn’t have to pause. “Ten months, twenty-three days, fifteen hours and forty-four minutes.” 

He said it so bluntly that Rose choked on a laugh, her stomach fluttering. 

At the sound of Rose’s giggle, Gavin unfroze, stepping between the three of them. “Hank, we’re off the clock today. Get  _ him _ out.” 

Hank began to step forward and open his mouth, but Connor cut him off. “We just need to ask Rose some questions for a recent case.” 

Deviancy had done Connor well, and emotions began to lace his words—his expressions, his stance,  _ everything _ . But still, in the moment, Connor composed himself enough to seem nonchalant about Gavin’s presence. Enough to annoy Gavin further. 

Hank had bet money that Gavin was just bitter about getting knocked out by Connor two punches in back in the evidence room, nearly a year ago. But Rose often thought it was something else, though.

Gavin looked back at Rose, gauging her reaction. “Fine,” he shrugged. And then he yanked out his wallet and handed Rose a handful of cash, reaching for his remaining glass and downing it with a grunt. Then he winked at Rose, clicking his tongue. “You tell me if these runts give you trouble, yeah?” 

If she was being honest with herself, Rose was impressed. Gavin, with alcohol in his system, not starting a fight? It was nearly unheard of. 

She bit her lip and nodded, satisfying Gavin enough. “Good luck, sweetheart,” he called, stepping around Hank and slapping a hand on Connor’s shoulder. 

And then he was gone, the doorbell signaling he had stepped into the night. 

Rose sighed, throwing a curl from her braid loose with a shake of her head. “I’m sorry,” she told them both. 

Hank scoffed as he took a seat at the bar, patting the seat next to him for Connor. “Don’t know what you need to be apologizing for, Squid.” 

Squid--a name Cole, his son, used to call her when she babysat him. Before he passed, Rose would walk to Hank’s house whenever he was called in and take care of Cole for years. And whether it was in the dead of night or at midday, she would come with the hand-sewn squid Cole loved. 

She still had that little stuffed squid on her nightstand. 

Rose smiled at Hank’s comment, rolling her eyes playfully. After checking on the other customers, she went to offer Hank his usual, opening her mouth to speak — but then Connor shot out a hand beside him, nearly brushing her own fingers against the table. 

“He won’t be drinking tonight,” Connor said. Rose raised an eyebrow.

A noise sounded in Hank’s throat, but then he swallowed it. Evidently, by the look Connor gave him, they had already discussed the matter. 

“I tried,” Hank shrugged—and then sighed at Rose’s raised brows. “Only drinking on weekends, now.” 

Apparently, Connor’s passing comments of them “working things out” with Hank’s drinking habits had proven true. Hank had seemed more sober lately, anyway. It was a nice improvement.

Rose grinned, genuinely happy for him. But, nonetheless, “So I won’t be seeing you around here that often, then?” 

Hank nodded. “Yeah, thanks to  _ this _ kid,”—he grabbed Connor’s shoulder again, and a smile pulled at both of their mouths. “But Sumo needs more lovin’, if you ever wanna come over to watch him while we’re out.” 

At the mention of the old dog, Rose nodded enthusiastically. Hank only lived a few streets down from her, anyway, right by the docks—and the precious ball of fluff  _ always _ needed more love. 

Connor’s face went soft at the mention of Sumo, his eyes taking in Rose’s giddy expression with an odd look on his face. But then his LED quickly flashed yellow, and his face dropped.

“We came here to ask you something, Rose,” Connor said. And Hank, with the conversation having been steered back on track, grew somber. 

“Yeah, Squid. We, ah . . .” Hank heaved a sigh, tapping his fingers on the table. Avoiding having to talk, most likely—which made Rose’s chest seize a bit. 

When they asked Rose for information before, there was no hesitation to their questions. What was making Hank so quiet this time? 

Rose watched a customer a few stools down drop some cash on the table as he exited and stepped over to him, collecting the change and grabbing the empty glasses before she turned to Connor and Hank completely. 

“Well,” Hank continued, “we know a lot passes around through here, and we know you hear everything. . .” — which was true. Rose knew almost as many people as Hank did, having grown up in the outskirts of Detroit, and word tended to travel fast through tipsy mouths. 

But this had already been established. At this point, Hank was stalling. 

Likely sensing her unease, Connor’s LED flashed as he eyed her. He moved his hand to rest on top of hers, to soothe her. 

If he noticed how her heartbeat sped up instead, he didn’t mention it. 

“We need to know if you’ve been experiencing anything strange lately,” he said, and Rose’s heart rate immediately died down. “We . . . we have reason to believe that you are being followed.” 

Rose froze completely, her jaw going slack. Her mind flicking to every instance the hair on her neck raised, every fleeing form she witnessed that somehow always behind her . . .

More than once recently, she had  _ felt _ eyes on her. Watching. Waiting, silent, as she walked down the streets of Detroit. 

Rose had thought it was her mere imagination. 

“Yes,” Rose eventually blurted out, eyeing Connor’s hand. “I mean, no, I haven’t seen anyone, or heard anything. But . . .” A curl fell against her cheek as she tilted her head. 

Eyes scrunching, Hank spoke up. “You think you’re being followed, kiddo?” 

It took everything in her to force the words out-- _ They’re cops _ , she reminded herself.  _ They have to know this stuff _ . 

“Yeah,” she admitted. “I . . . Sometimes a couple drunks stalk me, but only for a few minutes before giving up. But lately, I’ve been feeling like someone’s been  _ watching _ me--the entire way home.” But then she shrugged, brushing it off. “But I haven’t spotted anyone, so it may be nothing.” 

Connor tilted his head as his LED spun. “Human minds can pick up on subtle cues outside of their direct field of vision and not be completely aware of it,” he blurted. “You may be noticing someone’s gaze without actually  _ seeing _ it. There  _ is _ a chance your brain may be sending false alarms, but it’s still better to be cautious.”

Taking in the information, Rose’s eyes fell to Hank. “Why?” she asked. “I mean, what’s making you think I’m being followed?” 

At that moment, Jimmy himself walked through the front door, the bell jingling and throwing Rose out of her thoughts. Her shift was up. 

Hank clenched his jaw for a moment, considering. 

It was Connor that spoke up in the silence. “We received photographs at the precinct the other day,” he breathed, lowering his voice. “Candid photos of people around the city.” 

“And you were the main one,” Hank muttered. His eyes were cloudy, his face somber. 

Rose felt her blood run cold. 

From behind her, Jimmy clasped Rose on the shoulder and nodded to Hank in greeting. “I’ll take it from here,” he said. “You’re good to head on home.” 

She didn’t move. She  _ couldn’t _ , not when someone was taking  _ pictures  _ of her, following her, for some unknown reason--

“I’ll walk you home,” Connor spoke up, retracting his hand from hers and sliding off the bar stool. “Hank needs to finish up at the precinct, but I can stay with you.” In response, Hank nodded. 

Rose let out a sigh of relief and nodded. 

And so they left her to gather her things, Hank squeezing her forearm in a gentle farewell and Connor standing politely at the exitway. His LED didn’t stray from blue, even when he and Rose stepped into the winter night and the chill took over. Always bright, always flickering. 

She wondered why he never decided to take it out. 

For a few minutes, neither of them spoke, and Connor let Rose take the lead as he processed everything around them. Looking for clues, most likely. 

But then she couldn’t stand the silence anymore, and she spoke up. “I heard there’s another RK model at the precinct,” she said, eyeing him as he glanced around through the snow. At her comment, his eyes flicked to her and he smiled, polite and cheerful. 

Her stomach flipped again. 

“His name is Corvus,” he said as they rounded another corner. “He’s my successor by three models--and he’s the last one, evidently.”

“The last one?” She thought there were more--there were around ten Connor models made, right?

“After the deviant uprising, CyberLife gave orders for every active RK unit to return to the Tower and be deactivated. The rest of my successors, save Nines, were all destroyed.” His voice was soft, quiet, and Rose noticed that he was rubbing his hands together--a nervous habit, she realized. Something he developed after the uprising.

Without thinking, Rose tugged on one of his hands and intertwined her fingers with his. For a second, his LED flashed--but then it faded back into its constant, soothing blue. She felt his hand squeeze back, if only for a moment, before she released her hold. 

“Except Corvus,” she responded, pulling him out of his thoughts. 

He nodded. “He was already deviated from his time at the Salt Lake City Police Department, and he came to Detroit a few days ago.” 

“To meet you?” 

Connor’s lip twitched. “To meet Markus.” 

_ Oh _ . She should have assumed. 

The tension between Markus and the general public had slowly settled over time, leaving Markus the ability to establish a community for deviants, just north of Detroit. It seemed that deviants were still flocking to him, even now. 

“I think you’d like him,” he mused. 

Rose was about to comment more--but then his LED sputtered into yellow, and he returned his attention to his surroundings as he processed. Looking for hints again--even though, oddly enough, there were none. 

She stifled the nagging thought, that doubt that she had ever seen anything at all. Maybe it was just her mind playing tricks on her--Connor had brought up that idea as an option, anyway.

She remained quiet as Connor processed everything, completely content with just his company until they reached the front steps of the townhouse. This time, it was late enough that she was sure her father was asleep--something that made her heave a sigh of relief. 

Connor remained on the sidewalk as Rose slowly climbed the steps, her feet nearly dragging. “Thank you,” she murmured, turning on her heel to face him. In return, Connor bowed his head. 

For a moment, he said nothing, simply staring at her with an odd look on his face. But then his LED blinked all over again, and his expression slowly faded. 

“Let me know if you ever need anything, Rose,” he said, so sincerely that her chest warmed. She nearly grinned at the way he said her name. 

But she didn’t trust herself to speak, so she nodded, turning to unlock the door and slipping in with a small wave of farewell. 

He called for her before she could close the door. “Come to the precinct tomorrow, during Hank’s break,” he requested. It was likely to meet Corvus, and she faltered a little at the idea of seeing Connor’s face on someone else--but it was  _ he _ who asked her, and she couldn’t say no.

“Okay,” she said. “Tomorrow.”

Connor’s responding grin made her laugh. 


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose meets Connor’s successor, RK800-54 — also known as Corvus.

Rose managed to cut work early, speeding down the few blocks to the DCPD and rushing into the office as quickly as possible. Connor himself was waiting in the lobby, flipping his coin absentmindedly until she burst through the door. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Rose said through heaving breaths. “The walk took longer than I expected, especially with the rain--”

Connor stopped her with a grin. “It’s alright,” he soothed, moving to touch the side of her arm--but then thinking better of it, and pulling his hand back as if nothing ever happened. 

Rose didn’t know what to make of that. 

Instead, he wordlessly ushered her through the security gates, throwing a polite greeting at Gavin--who responded with a very obscene and  _ Gavin- _ esque gesture--before leading her back to Hank’s desk. It was, oddly, unoccupied. 

“You still have the tree,” Rose added softly as she glanced to the Japanese maple, now slightly bigger, on Connor’s desk. Next to it sat a picture frame faced away from her, likely displaying a photo of Hank and Sumo--or maybe just the dog, knowing him. 

For a moment, Connor’s face went soft. “When it gets large enough, we’re moving it back home,” he said, referring to Hank’s house. It was where Connor now stayed, having long since moved into Cole’s old room. 

Connor then slowed to a stop, turning to face Rose and sitting atop his desk. “Hank is introducing Corvus to Captain Fowler,” he began--but abruptly stopped, as soon as he saw Rose’s clasped hands and shaky breathing. 

“Your heart rate is still unusually elevated and your breathing is uneven,” he said, his brows scrunched in concern. “Are you alright?” 

For a minute, Rose didn’t respond. 

If she was being honest with herself, then  _ no _ , she was not alright. She was used to seeing the identical android models everywhere; it was commonplace at this point. But the idea of seeing another  _ Connor _ , another android that had similar looks and mannerisms and quirks but  _ wasn’t him _ \--

“You’re nervous,” Connor deduced, his LED blinking yellow. Slowly, gently, he reached out, tugging at her fingers until her nails retracted from her palms. She fought the urge to lean in to his touch, even if it only lasted for a moment. 

Rose let out a breathy chuckle, swaying on her feet. “It’s just . . .  _ weird _ , ” she said quietly. “It’s like meeting your long lost twin.” 

She glanced up to see the corners of Connor’s mouth quirk up. “It’s common for humans to be uncomfortable in the presence of multiple androids of the same model,” he said. “Your anxiety isn’t unwarranted--”

“Yeah, but it’s not that,” Rose stopped him, stepping forward before she could stop herself. “It’s--” 

“What about humans bein’ uncomfortable?” a voice sounded from behind, abruptly cutting Rose off before she could make a fool of herself further. Rose jumped back, swiveling her head to see Hank’s amused expression from down the hall. Nines was beside him, ever-present and looming-- 

And beside them both was Corvus. Connor’s successor. 

He was much different than she expected. He was dressed similarly to Connor, clothed in a white button down, tie, and slacks. But instead of soft waves, his hair was curly--and, from what she could make out, his eyes were  _ green _ . A stark difference from Connor’s. 

Rose let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. 

Noticing her reaction, the corners of Corvus’ mouth lifted into a small smile. 

“Rose, meet Connor’s fraternal twin,” Hank called, gesturing to Corvus as he collapsed into his desk chair. Nines only nodded at Rose in acknowledgement before silently returning to his terminal across the room, next to Gavin. 

**** Corvus, slowly approaching Rose’s side, raised an outstretched hand in greeting. Immediately, Rose noticed how . . .  _ casual _ he was, compared to his predecessor. Connor had slowly relaxed over time, yes, but Corvus had a looser way of carrying himself. His other hand was stuffed into the pocket of his trousers, and he was  _ slouching _ . Rose knew that Connor would rather be caught dead than have anything but perfect posture.

“My name is Corvus,” he said. She noticed that his voice was much softer, too. Slower. 

“H-hi,” Rose spit out, forcing herself to pull her focus away from his face long enough to shake his hand. 

Pulling away from the handshake, Corvus stepped back to assess her. Through his curls, Rose could spot his LED flickering yellow as he processed--likely scanning her, if she knew any better. 

“You’re Rosalind Huggins,” he said, and then scrunched his brows in thought. “I was activated before Connor uploaded any memories of you to CyberLife, so I’m afraid I don’t have any knowledge of you in my database.” 

Rose paused before glancing briefly at Connor. He had mentioned in passing that his successors had access to his memory up until his deviation, but Rose had completely forgotten. “How long ago were you . . .”

“Released?” Corvus finished, another smile tugging at his lips. “I was activated and transferred to Salt Lake City in September of last year, after Connor’s first successful case.” 

_ Oh. _

For some reason, the fact that Corvus didn’t share many memories with Connor was, well,  _ comforting _ . 

From his spot behind his terminal screen, Hank caught Rose’s expression and laughed. “Don’t worry kid, you don’t have to deal with  _ two _ Connor’s running around. They’re more like brothers, if anything.” And when Rose looked to Connor, he nodded in agreement.

Turning again to Corvus, she took in his appearance once more. “Why do you look so different, then? I thought all of you looked the same.”

“We don’t know,” Connor said. Corvus shrugged, just as clueless as Connor was.

“I assume they changed my appearance to test if I would integrate with humans easier,” Corvus said, “but CyberLife never explained anything.” 

Hank scoffed. “Well, easier for us, then.” Rose couldn’t really disagree with his comment. 

“What are you going to--” Rose began, but then was cut off by a loud buzzing of the intercom. 

“ _ Hank, Connor, Corvus, in my office, _ ” Captain Fowler called, his voice harsh and muffled over the speaker. Rose cringed, but the rest were seemingly unaffected by the volume. They were likely used to it already.

“Well, that’s our cue, kid,” Hank sighed, already grumpy over the fact that he  _ just _ sat down and was already called in again. Connor slid off his desk with a frown and stepped to Hank’s side. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t expect--” Connor began, but Rose just shrugged it off with a chuckle.

“It’s fine,” she replied, looking towards Corvus with a smile. “Duty calls. I’ll see you all soon, yeah?” 

Corvus nodded, and Connor spoke up from behind him. “Hank and I will be staying late today, in case you would like to stop by.”

**** She had to stuff down the emotion pooling in her chest from Connor’s offer--so she simply nodded and bid them all farewell, not trusting her own voice until she walked out of the precinct. 

The night Connor walked Rose home, she hadn’t felt a single pair of eyes on her the entire time--she felt calm; normal. It made her second guess herself, wondering if she was even feeling anything at all. 

But as soon as she stepped out of the precinct, the feeling washed over her again--but this time _ twice _ as hard, as if the high tide had pulled her under its surface just as her feet met the sidewalk. It made her nauseous, wary, and it took a moment to gain her bearings. And so she paused, glancing down the road, over her shoulder, up on the rooftops--

Something dark flashed in the corner of her eye, disappearing between the buildings down the road. But when she flicked her head over to look, it was gone. 

It was likely a shadow, or an animal, or maybe just a trick of her mind--but she couldn’t shake it. 

For a moment, she almost turned back around and went inside. She even spun on her heels, looking over her shoulder as the precinct doors tempted her--

But no--she shouldn’t. She  _ couldn’t _ . Hank and Connor were likely on a case already, and they didn’t need to waste their time watching over Rose and her stagy paranoia. 

So slowly, carefully, Rose turned back around and faced the street, slipping her house key between her knuckles as she made her way to her shift at Jimmy’s Bar. 

* * * 

The feeling didn’t fade even after her shift at Jimmy’s ended, leaving Rose’s nerves fried and anxiety on overload for hours on end. Luckily, Jimmy had come in early that evening and sent her on her way--but not without questions of concern, after seeing her glance at the front door for the uptenth time. She nearly fought his offer, wanting to stay in the bar for as long as she could--but it wasn’t like she could explain what was going on. Even if she wanted to, even if she  _ tried _ . 

So she swallowed her protests and left without another word.

This time, though, she  _ knew _ her mind was playing tricks on her. It was as if her own subconscious knew how exhausted she was, how uncomfortable she felt, and took advantage of it, leaving her speeding down the streets and flicking her gaze around maniacally. Shadows danced in her vision--on rooftops, in alleyways, in shop windows--until she couldn’t take it anymore, and she careened her path towards the DPD Central Station. 

_ Connor would know what to do, right? _

But as soon as the station appeared, she slowed--because there Hank and Connor were, invested in a conversation with another officer on the entrance steps. They seemed . . . well,  _ busy _ . And she wouldn’t intrude on that. 

So Rose came to a halt a block away, stifled her words forming on her tongue, and slipped into the small alleyway adjacent to the building before either of them could spot her. The alley was a dead end, but it didn’t matter--she just needed to get her bearings, anyway. 

For a minute, Rose stood there, pressing herself up against the alley wall until she could get her nerves under control. But no matter how hard she tried, it didn’t work--her neck still felt itchy, and her back felt too exposed, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of being  _ watched _ . One would think that if someone decided to spy on her, they wouldn’t do it so close to the DCPD--

The more Rose thought about it, the more she played with the idea that she  _ was _ hallucinating. It was pretty likely. 

“You’re fine,” she whispered to herself, the wall across from her the only witness. “You’re fine. You’re fine.” 

She didn’t convince herself. 

“Are you alright?” 

The voice made Rose nearly jump out of her own skin, and she shrieked as she spun around. But instead of a criminal or the nonexistent figure that seemed to be following her every move, it was Corvus. 

He stood at the entrance of the alley, his hands relaxed at his sides. He looked concerned--but Rose didn’t blame him. She was the one talking to herself in a backstreet corner, anyway. 

Rose pressed a hand to her heart, as if it would somehow slow its beating. “I’m . . . I’m fine,” she breathed. But Corvus didn’t seem to buy it, and he raised his brows in response. 

It was then that she realized that she was still brandishing her key as a weapon. She pocketed it as quickly as she could. “I’m just a little paranoid,” she admitted, more sheepishly than she would’ve liked. 

Instead of teasing her, as Connor would, a soft smile graced Corvus’ features and he pocketed his hands. “Your paranoia is what keeps you safe,” he said gently. “Especially in Detroit at night.” 

She couldn’t blame him, but at the same time she knew he didn’t understand how paranoid she  _ actually _ was--for no reason, too.

Instead of focusing on herself, though, she folded her hands behind her back and shifted the conversation to him. “What can I do for you, Corvus?” 

For a moment, she could have sworn he was caught off guard at her question. His LED blinked. 

“I would like to walk you home,” he said. “Lieutenant Anderson gave me some . . .  _ rough _ details about the situation, and I thought it unfit for you to return home alone.” 

She almost denied him, simply on the basis that she didn’t feel the need to be constantly watched over. But he looked  _ hopeful _ , as if he  _ wanted _ to spend time with her--so she acquiesced.  And when she nodded, his answering grin seemed to warm her up, soothing the jumbled nerves inside of her. 

She immediately liked him.

Corvus walked by her side quietly for a few minutes, letting her lead the way with a nonchalant, almost  _ content _ , expression on his face. He seemed comfortable with the silence--but eventually, Rose couldn’t keep the questions from spilling off her tongue any longer. 

So before she could help herself, she stopped in her tracks and blurted, “Are you deviant?” 

And then she threw a hand over her mouth. 

“Sorry,” she immediately responded, squeezing her eyes shut before she could see the color of his LED. “I’m sorry. That was so blunt, I’m--”

“Yes,” Corvus said. It effectively drew Rose out of her rambling, enough to look up and see the light on his temple--blue. Steady, smooth. Unbothered.

“I deviated a few months back, when I was still with the Salt Lake City Police Department,” he said, and seemed completely at ease with Rose’s outburst. “The police force there couldn’t find much of a use for me after the revolution, so I left a few weeks ago to come to Detroit.”

Rose’s hands lowered from her face as she began walking again, Corvus following soon after. “To see Markus?” she asked.

At the mention of his name, Corvus’s face lit up. “Yes,” he said. “I have insight about deviancy around the country, and he could use an extra hand with further establishing Jericho. But I also came to meet my predecessor as well,” he admitted. Rose couldn’t blame him. 

As they crossed another street, Rose opened her mouth to ask Corvus another question--but then he stopped dead in his tracks at the edge of the sidewalk. His LED blinked a bright yellow.

Rose let him be for a moment, knowing exactly what those rapid blinks--a solely RK800 trait--meant. And when he eventually came out of it, she smiled at him. 

“Need to go?” she asked quietly, stuffing the growing disappointment deep in her belly before she did anything stupid. 

Corvus merely pursed his lips. “They called me back to the station,” he sighed--but then he hesitated, still paused at the crosswalk. 

Rose snickered lightly in response. “It’s alright, it’s only a few more blocks,” she reassured him. He seemed at least  _ slightly _ appeased by that. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” Slowly, Rose walked back, raising two fingers in a salute. 

But before she could get far, Corvus’ hand shot out, grasping her by the wrist--the  _ wrong _ wrist, and she flinched as he accidentally pressed on a bruise. He noticed, much to her dismay, and retracted his hand as quickly as he had reached for her with an apologetic look. 

“I would like to be friends with you,” he blurted out. His LED hadn’t strayed from yellow. 

At his comment, though, Rose nearly choked on her own breath--because that was such a  _ Connor _ thing to say--and she couldn’t keep herself from laughing. 

“Sorry, sorry,” she said, running a hand through her hair as she calmed herself. In front of her, Corvus looked  _ frozen _ , his stature rigid and his face stiff with confusion. He likely thought she was _making_ _ fun of him _ \--

Rose swallowed her own laughter. “No, it’s not you--it’s just, you RKs are so  _ blunt _ with everything. You don’t beat around the bush, huh?”

Corvus’ face scrunched further as he glanced around the street. “I don’t see what bushes you speak of would be in need of ‘ _ beating _ ’--”

“ _ Yes _ ,” Rose said, grinning until his gaze shot back to her and his LED returned to blue. “I would like to be friends with you, too.”

Corvus seemed to relax at that, and he stuffed his hands into his pockets as he began to turn around. “I will . . . see you tomorrow, then, Rosalind.”

“Rose,” she corrected, throwing him a wink when he turned to look back at her. 

Corvus nodded in response, and Rose could’ve sworn she saw  _ blue _ on his cheeks as he smiled. “Rose.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check out my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/haildoodles-writing) for more fics and updates!


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After far too long, Rose and Hank are finally able to truly talk.

Rose met Hank at the Chicken Feed the next day.

Lately, she hadn’t been able to really _talk_ to the aged lieutenant, their conversations rushed and brief as they both managed their respective jobs. But she still cared for the old man, and she still wanted to check up on him every once in a while. 

Especially after Cole. 

If she was honest with herself, she was grateful that Connor came around when he did. Rose managed to stop by and visit--to _help_ \--Hank when she could, but at the end of the day, he would end up shutting everyone off, and he would always be alone. And when he was alone, he would drink everything away, and he would never let himself heal. 

She never stopped feeling guilty about not being around enough after Cole’s death. 

But then Connor came along, wedging himself into Hank’s life until they became some sort of unconventional, quirky family, and Hank began to get _better_. She wasn’t around much, but she could tell. 

That afternoon, Rose had managed to slip away from the Thai restaurant a little earlier than usual, just in time to catch Connor and Hank’s weekly outing to the Chicken Feed. But when she scampered up to the food truck, her hands folded behind her back, she noticed that Connor was absent. 

She was nearly at Hank’s shoulder when he finally noticed her. 

“Ah, hey, kiddo,” he greeted, palming his drink and burger as he stepped away--but not before handing her another cup, having bought it for her before she arrived. He knew Rose didn’t like the place--if the flaunted “C” Grade on the truck’s side said anything. But the soda was trustworthy, at least. 

“Sorry, your boy’s not here today,” he called over his shoulder. 

He couldn’t see her face growing hot until she sat on the metal bench next to him. “C-Connor?”

Through a bite of his burger, Hank managed to scoff. “ _Yes_ , Connor. Who else?” 

“He’s not _my boy_ , you know.”

Hank gave her a dead-eyed stare. 

But Rose avoided his look, sipping on her soda as she stared at the concrete. 

“I can call him that as much as I want, you know,” Hank continued, much too amused for Rose’s liking. “If the doe-eyed stare you always give him says anything. I swear, one day you’re gonna make me puke.” 

For a moment, Rose was stuck completely still, swallowing the soda in her mouth before she could choke on it. Hank _caught_ _that_?

“Where is he, anyways?” Rose eventually asked. If Hank noticed her trying to steer the conversation around--which she knew he did--he didn’t mention it. 

“Out with Corvus, somewhere. Last I heard, they’re planning to meet up with Markus--or maybe they’re just out on a little date and gettin’ to know each other, I don’t know.” 

The idea of Corvus and Connor asking each other rapid-fire questions about themselves--with their awkward, blunt conversations--made Rose grin. 

For a minute or two, they fell into a peaceful quiet, Rose staring at the city ahead as Hank finished his meal. 

But then Hank spoke up. 

“How are you, by the way?” 

She didn’t really know how to answer that.

But she eventually came up with the words, “I’m getting better,”--and it was _true_. After Cole’s death, Rose went into a downward spiral--she had graduated high school that same year, leaving her with nothing else to do--nothing to be able to leave the house for, besides a measly little job she had picked up on the weekends. 

And that meant that she would be home. And being _home_ meant she would be with her father. 

But now she had two jobs, and she had been able to scrape together enough money to put towards an emergency fund. And on top of that, she had Hank and Connor (and Gavin every once in a while), and now Corvus--

“Yeah,” she said honestly. “I’m better.” 

It wasn’t necessarily _good_ \--but it was bearable, at least. 

Hank’s responding smile was warm. 

“How have _you_ been, by the way?” she asked in return, genuine curiosity etched on her face. 

Hank merely shrugged. “ _Eeh,_ same old, same old. Life’s getting boring, now that Connor’s hidden the booze around the house.” 

She snorted, and subsequently choked on her soda. Of _course_ Connor would do something like that. 

“Yeah, I have no idea where he keeps those things now,” he laughed. “But, I mean, hey, at least he keeps me from getting stone-cold drunk anymore.” 

He meant it as a joke, she knew he did.

But still, Rose couldn’t help but feel guilty. 

“I’m sorry,” Rose blurted. Hank shot her a confused look. 

“ . . . For not being there,” she continued, this time more to herself than anything. Because she should have been there. She _should have_. 

But Hank clasped a firm hand on her shoulder, yanking her out of her thoughts as he squeezed. 

“You do _not apologize,_ Rose,” he demanded. When she looked up at him, his face was hard. 

“You do not apologize for what I did,” he continued. “You were a _kid_. A _child_. You hear me? You _do not_ need to feel _guilt_ over your old man’s mistakes.” 

_You were a kid_.

 _You were a_ kid. 

Even back then, Rose supposed, she had that nasty little habit of taking the weight of the world upon her own shoulders. 

She wished she didn’t

As if to solidify his statement, Hank squeezed her shoulder one last time before letting go. And then he laughed--emptily. “I used to be an android-hating, alcoholic lieutenant. Look how far I’ve come, eh?” 

Through the lump in her throat, Rose managed snicker. “Connor really shook you up, huh.” 

“Yeah, he did, didn’t he,” Hank mused. The hardened lieutenant liked to complain about Connor to any listening ear--but it wasn’t hard to see how much Hank truly cared for him. 

For a minute or so, the two fell into peaceful silence, and Rose let the weight of the conversation slowly sink in. But then that irritating, exhausting _feeling_ began at the back of her neck again, and Rose spit out the question that had been plaguing her mind for days. 

“Have you gotten any leads on the case, yet?”

 _Or more specifically,_ she wanted to say, _have you found them?_

She was tired of the constant eyes on her back of her neck, the incessant itch that she could never scratch. It had been merely a week or so since it all started, but it was _exhausting_. 

She wanted it to be over with. 

But Hank’s face dropped before he even opened his mouth, and Rose’s spirits fell from its tower. “You know I can’t tell you much about it, but . . . No,” he admitted. “Not a thing.” 

She had no idea what the photos meant, and evidently neither did Hank. The idea that someone was _still out there_ , waiting, was one thing. But the fact that neither of them had any idea _why_? 

She hated it. 

The alarm on Rose’s watch sounded, cutting off her thoughts. 

“Sorry,” she apologized when she noticed Hank’s inquisitive gaze. “Got an early shift at Jimmy’s.” 

Hank shrugged as Rose made to stand, crumpling the burger’s wrapper in his hands. “Hey, that reminds me, kiddo, I forgot to ask--you mind stopping by to check on Sumo tonight? Connor and I got an overnight shift.” 

The thought of seeing the old St. Bernard made Rose grin, and she nodded enthusiastically. 

Hank chuckled at her expression. “Key’s under the mat,” he reminded her. 

Rose nearly rolled her eyes at that--you would think that a police lieutenant wouldn’t put his house key in the most _obvious_ spot possible. 

“Got it, Lieutenant,” she called, throwing a wave over her shoulder as she crossed the street. 

The feeling came back as soon as she rounded the corner. 

For some reason, though, the feeling felt _worse_. Her stomach began to twist, and she couldn’t stop rolling her shoulders. She didn’t know why. 

But then her alarm beeped again, signaling that she had another fifteen minutes left before her shift began. She couldn’t risk being late again--Jimmy could only offer her so many warnings, anyway. 

The walk back to work was relatively quiet, though--until Rose cut through Capitol Park, that is, where she saw a few familiar faces of her coworkers and their children. For the most part, however, the walk was smooth--

And then a familiar voice called out her name, and she nearly jumped out of her own skin. 

Spinning on her heel, she found the source of the voice: not Connor, like she had expected, but Corvus, standing underneath the shade of a nearby tree. Connor himself was sitting on the grass beside him, and next to them both sat someone she had only seen on the news. 

“Rose,” Corvus greeted with a grin as soon as she was close enough. “I wasn’t aware you took this route to work.”

Rose shrugged, the leaves under her feet crunching beneath her as she stepped onto the grass. She folded her hands behind her back--they hadn’t stopped trembling since she left--and attempted to maintain _some_ semblance of calm, despite that it was nearly impossible to do. 

But still, being near Connor eased her, as it always did. She didn’t think too much into the reason why--even though she knew _exactly_ what it was. 

As her breath began to even out, she flicked her gaze between the three men in front of her--more specifically, the one on Connor’s right. She tried to keep herself from staring--really, she _tried_ \--but she couldn’t help herself. He seemed to captivate her somehow, even as he sat on the grass in an unassuming sweater and jeans. 

Just by looking at him, she could tell he was the type of person that could silence a room with the snap of a finger. 

“Sometimes I do,” she ended up murmuring to Corvus, her gaze flicking between the two RKs as she offered them a small smile. It took her all her might to keep herself from staring at the third android--but if he could tell, he didn’t say anything. Though she _did_ catch the twinkle of awareness in his eye.

“You’re Rose Huggins,” the man-- _Markus_ \--ended up stating. A small, knowing grin was planted on his face. 

He held out his hand, and it took no hesitation for Rose to reach forward and grasp it. “These two have told me a lot about you,” he said. 

Immediately, she noticed how much softer and _kinder_ his voice was than what she had imagined. From what she had seen on the news, she had expected him to be hard and intimidating--perhaps a little brutal, if she was being honest. This man was anything but. 

“Really?” Rose blurted out, suddenly overcome with nervousness. With how blunt Connor could be, who _knows_ what he could’ve said-- 

Connor must have sensed her rising heartbeat, because he spoke up. “Only the good stuff,” he said--and then he threw her a wink. 

Rose was entirely certain that all the heat from her body went straight to her face. 

“We were just discussing how the housing program at Jericho is going, but we were planning on walking through the shopping center afterwards,” Corvus spoke up, now leaning against the tree. 

Connor nodded. “If you want, we’d like for you to join us--”

As if she was cursed, her watch’s “five-minute warning” alarm went off. 

The bar was still at _least_ a ten minute walk away, and the idea of sprinting to the bar dampened her spirits. But still, perhaps a run would wipe her nervous energy out from under her. 

Maybe if she ran fast enough, the eyes trailing her footsteps would fade. 

A heavy breath spilled from her lips as she slammed a palm over her watch and silenced it. And then she apologized. 

“I’d love to,” she said to the three androids, “but--well, another time, yeah?” 

Markus smiled softly, his eyes warm and his expression polite. “Absolutely,” he agreed before standing up to grasp her hand again in parting. 

He was . . . much taller than she expected. 

It took nearly all her willpower to force her feet to move, but soon she was stepping away, promising them all plans of meeting in the future before she exited through the park gates. But then--

“Rose,” Connor called. 

Turning around at the crosswalk, she witnessed Connor jogging towards her, slowing to a halt right outside the rusting metal gates. His breath was even, his face calm--she wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to seeing people unwinded from a sprint. 

“Rose,” he called again. One hand smoothed out his suit jacket, his other held out towards her with his palm outstretched. 

“Connor,” she breathed. A gentle smile grew on her face.

“I noticed that your hands were shaking, and you showed signs of anxiousness even before Corvus called for you,” he said, concern etched onto his face. “Are you alright?” 

For a moment, Rose paused, considering. 

If it came down to it, then _no_ , she wasn’t alright. And by Connor’s expression, he knew that she wasn’t alright, either. But in his own, quirky little way of his, it was him asking her to open up and telling her that he was _aware_ of her emotions. 

Even a year after his deviancy, Rose knew that he still wasn’t necessarily skilled with emotions, with vulnerability. But . . . he was trying. 

He was _worried_ for her. 

The thought of it settled softly in her chest. 

“I . . . I don’t know,” Rose ended up stammering, watching as Connor’s hand lowered to his side. 

And then she laughed, shrugging her shoulders. “I think I’m just overthinking things,” she admitted.

A moment passed, and then another, and Rose watched as Connor’s gaze flicked back and forth between her eyes. And then--

“It’s about the photos, isn’t it?” he murmured. His LED seeped into a vibrant yellow.

She hesitated, but nodded in defeat. Her eyes fell to the ground between their shoes. 

But Connor wouldn’t have that. 

“Rose,” he called again. His voice was gentle and warm, his touch equally so as he reached forward and brushed his fingers against her forearm. She knew he wouldn’t hold her unless she allowed it; it was one of his codes that he still had a hard time overcoming.

But even then, just the slightest touch of his fingers was enough to send shocks through her. She wondered if he noticed it. 

Swallowing thickly, Rose lifted her gaze to match Connor’s own.

“I will do everything in my power to protect you, Rose,” Connor vowed, something flashing in his eyes that Rose couldn’t quite place. 

But still, Rose knew he meant it. 

She cracked a shy grin. “I know you will, Connor,” she said. 

Heaving a deep sigh--that Rose knew was more for show than out of actual necessity--Connor stepped back, and his hand lowered to his side once more. 

“According to my time logs, you have another two minutes and 34 seconds before your shift begins. If you would like, I can escort you there,” he offered. 

The word “ _yes_ ” bubbled up to the tip of Rose’s tongue, and she played with the idea for a moment. He was sincere in his offer, and she knew herself enough to know that she _wanted_ his company--

But no. Corvus and Markus were waiting for him, somewhere amongst the trees--and, well, he had a job to fulfill. She couldn’t pull him into personally escorting her everywhere like a child. 

“I’ll be fine,” she ended up saying, even though Connor didn’t seem convinced. “Go back to those two, I’ll be alright on my own.” 

Connor’s hesitation was plain as day on his face, but he acquiesced anyways. “I’ll see you soon, Rose,” he nodded. 

He began to turn around--but Rose called out to him before she stepped onto the crosswalk. 

“Connor,” she called. In response, he stopped in his tracks, his gaze so puppyish that he nearly melted. 

“Thank you,” she said. And she meant it. 

Because despite the anxiety, despite the fear scraping at her nerves and the thoughts in her brain that never seemed to untangle, he was _there_. He was watching out for her, and she knew he always would. 

Connor’s expression softened. “There’s no need to thank me,” he replied. “You’re my friend.” 

Her smile didn’t fade even after he disappeared through the gates. 


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose reaches her breaking point, and she finally realizes what--or, more specifically, _who_ \--has been watching her. 
> 
> A/N: So sorry about the late update, guys! I had a pretty insane week, and I just lost track of what day it was haha. I'll be back on track for regular Friday updates next week :)
> 
> Chapter Warnings: violence, mentions of guns/blood

As soon as she rounded the corner adjacent to Capitol Park, Rose began to feel nauseous. 

That strange, uncomfortable itch at the back of her neck increased tenfold, and after stumbling down a few more streets, she had to force herself to stop and press herself up against the nearest wall to calm her nerves. Onlookers gave her odd looks--likely thinking she was drunk, or something of the sort--but no one seemed out of the ordinary. No one seemed to be the culprit for those biting shivers running down her spine. 

And so she sat there, sliding down the wall to a crouch and pressing her hand against her chest, and waited. 

But then her watch chimed again--her shift had started already. 

She swore under her breath. 

_If you would like, I can escort you there,_ Connor had offered. And she hadn’t taken it. _Why hadn’t she taken it_ \--

Distantly, through the pounding in her own ears and the chatter of nearby pedestrians, Rose heard a distinct, quiet _click_. As if the sound of a camera. 

And then she was on her feet and running. 

After years of walking the Detroit streets, she knew the back alleys like the back of her hand--and so she dipped into one close by, sprinting down filth-ridden paths and weaving between buildings as quickly as she could. The logical part within her knew that if she _truly_ were being followed, isolated alleys were a guaranteed death sentence. 

But she had to get to Connor. 

She _had to get to Connor_. 

And so she stifled the reasonable side of herself, and she continued sprinting. Muddy water splashed onto her jeans and soaked her shoes as she ran, and she scratched her palms against brick walls as she caught herself from stumbling, but she didn’t care. She _didn’t care_ \--not when she was hyperventilating, tripping over her own feet as her vision tilted--

She was nearly there, now. Maybe a few more turns before the park came into view. And so she slowed, only slightly, forcing herself to catch her breath until the graffiti on the wall didn’t swirl around anymore. 

And then for a moment, through her panicked breathing and swaying vision, she began to doubt herself. Maybe, _maybe_ , she was imagining things. Maybe she didn’t need Connor’s help after all, and she was just being paranoid about those photos at the precinct--

Somewhere behind her, she heard a crash. 

And then an eerie, deafening _screech_ \--as if metal was being scraped with nails. 

Rose’s blood ran cold. 

And then she began sprinting again.

“ _Connor_ ,” she called out, nearly yelling through her pants--though she knew he couldn’t hear her, knew he was likely gone already--

 _Connor. Connor. Connor_. 

The sounds behind her grew more intense with each passing second, and so she ran faster, nearly slipping on the gravel beneath her as she raced through the alleys. She knew she was trembling, but her heart was beating inside her own head now, and the only thing flying through her head was _Connor_ \--

She nearly sobbed when she rounded another corner to reveal Capitol Park. 

But before she could call out Connor’s name again, hands clamped around her waist and threw her against the alley wall. 

And then, before she could react, those hands clamped around the back of her neck and hurled her forward, and she slammed her head against the corner of a metal dumpster. Immediately, spots filled her vision and her nerves collapsed all at once. Bile rose in her throat, and she could feel something warm slide down her temple. 

But as the dark, shadow-clad figure towered over her, she managed to find her voice. 

“ _CONNOR,”_ she screamed. 

The figure didn’t seem too pleased. 

But instead of walking towards her, though, they-- _it_ \--slunk onto all fours. And then it _crawled_ , silver knuckles bent into fists as they pressed into the ground. Its gait was slow, smooth--

An animal. 

It behaved like an _animal_. 

Through the pounding in her head and the trembling throughout her body, Rose managed to pull herself up, using the lip of the dumpster to support her as she stumbled backwards. But in response, the monster before her _snarled_ , and then it leaped forward, standing on both feet again as it shoved her up against the wall once again. 

Rose could feel it as adrenaline filled her from head to toe, nerves skyrocketing as the _thing_ pressed her shoulders into the wall so hard that it stung. Her vision swam, but she managed to stabilize herself enough for her to make out a face. 

Or, really, a lack thereof. 

Because from beneath the dark hood, she managed to catch glimpses of a blindingly white neck, the side of a cheek, the outline of teeth--and then _nothing_. No nose, no lips, no eyebrows--

And no eye sockets. Just the ball of each eye, set in place with two metal spokes trailing backwards. And then behind those eyes was a clump of sparking wires and flashes of blue light--

Its _brain_. 

Rose nearly vomited. 

But before she could scream again, it--the _android--_ slammed a hand over her mouth, using its other hand to press a closed fist against her diaphragm.

“ _\--ERE ARE THEY,_ ” the android seethed, with a voice so mechanical that it sounded like it was dragged across jagged metal. Shivers ran down her back and pushed through every synapse she had, and it filled her with pure, unadulterated _terror_. 

But before she could think, she was ripping her arm out from behind her back and swinging forward, reaching forward and going straight for its brain. Slamming her hand against the pocket of wires and blue blood, ignoring she shocks that ran through her--

But even when she dug until her hand ached, the assailant barely moved. Barely _grunted_ , much to Rose’s horror. It only removed its hand from her stomach and yanked on her arm, grabbing onto her wrist with a vice-like grip.

And then it snarled. 

The thrumming in Rose’s head worsened when suddenly, faster than it moved before, it whipped Rose around to the center of the alley and faced the main road. Through her swirling vision, Rose was able to make out two figures ahead of her, and their silhouettes became so familiar that she began to sob.

One of them, standing a few steps in front of the other, slowly put his palms out. 

“Let go of the woman,” Connor said carefully, taking a few risky steps forward.Behind him, Rose could see Markus and at the ready. Markus, she noticed, was holding a gun. 

From behind her, Rose could feel the android tense, its arm around her stomach squeezing.

“Let go of her,” Connor repeated. “Release her, and I promise you won’t get hurt.” 

_Connor. Connor. Connor_. 

The android snarled against her ear. “ _TRAITOR_ ,” it hissed. 

And then, much to Rose’s terror, she heard a sharp _click_. And then a gun, cold and heavy, was pressed against her bleeding temple. Her head was shoved roughly against the android’s chest, craning her neck back as the pistol’s barrel bit at her skin.

Rose could barely make out Connor’s LED turning red. 

“Let go,” Connor said again, taking another step. She could hear the tenseness in his voice, the underlying anger. But with every step Connor took, the tenser the android became, and soon it became difficult for Rose to breathe with the android’s forearm squeezing just below her ribs. And Connor must have noticed her heaving, because his LED began to blink faster, still a blinding red--

And then, for a moment, his gaze flicked to the side. Past Rose’s shoulder.  
“What do you want?” Connor asked. He slowed to a stop--maybe ten feet away from her now. 

The android hissed once again--and then slowly lifted the gun from Rose’s temple, pivoting it to aim at Connor himself. 

“ _YOU_ ,” it seethed. 

A shot rang out, and Rose felt her throat constrict as she began to hyperventilate. She slammed her eyes shut, not wanting to see where the shot ended up, not wanting to see blood spraying the floor--

Beside her, the android’s arm fell limp. The gun clattered to the floor. 

And then, with the vice-like grip still wrapped around her stomach, she felt the android’s knees give out and something warm begin to drip down her neck. The android collapsed to the ground, bringing Rose down with it. 

It was dead. 

Rose managed to yank herself out of the android’s hold and turned around, clutching her pounding head in her hands as she forced herself to look at its body--and, sure enough, blue blood had begun to pool around the android’s collapsed form. A shredded hole tore through the back of its hood, directly behind its brain. 

And down the alley behind them stood Corvus, a smoking gun in his hands. 

Rose couldn’t control her sobs. 

Connor was at her side in an instant, gently tugging her away from the bloody mess at Rose’s feet. And before she could help herself, she was crawling into his arms, pressing her forehead into the juncture of his neck and shoulder and _breathing_. 

Distantly, she could hear Markus and Corvus near her speaking in sharp, quick words--and then farther behind them, down the alley, police and ambulance sirens began to blare. The sounds alone nearly split Rose’s head in two, and she flinched. 

She felt Connor tug her further into his lap and wrap his arms around her, running a hand up and down her spine. “ _Shh_ ,” he soothed. “It’s over, Rose.”

 ****_It’s over._

At that moment, Rose didn’t care if it was Connor’s social relations program taking over, or if it was some coding he installed to help comfort victims in his line of work. She didn’t care that he would never hold her like this again.

 ****Either way, it was still _him_. He was curling into her, whispering words of comfort into her ears and running his fingers through her hair. He was _holding_ her. 

And for the first time in a long while, she felt safe. 

But her peaceful reverie was ripped from her much too quickly, and sirens with blinding lights appeared at the end of the alleyway. For a moment, she shifted her head to witness the force coming in--but the lights felt like a vice around her skull, and she dug her head into Connor’s neck once again. Her ears began to ring. 

Behind her, she heard Markus’ soothing voice through the pulsing in her ears. “She needs to be taken in,” he said. She felt Connor nod in response. 

Beneath her, Connor began to shift. She only held on tighter, with all the strength she had left.

She knew he was going to leave. 

With all the energy she could muster, she lifted her head from his shoulder until she saw his face. 

“Don’t leave me,” she begged. Her voice broke. 

_Please don’t leave me alone_. 

For a moment, Connor’s LED flashed a vibrant amber, and his gaze flicked between her eyes. And then he glanced over her shoulder to where Corvus stood with a hardened expression. 

“You find out who did this,” he told him. 

Corvus nodded deftly, his own gaze stoic and his LED blinking rapidly. 

He stayed as Connor slowly helped Rose to her feet, resting her arm over his shoulders and holding her by the waist as she limped towards the main road. Markus quickly joined Connor at Rose’s other side, helping her climb into the back of the ambulance before slipping off to go give a statement to the waiting police. 

Connor remained at her side until Hank showed up. 

Hank was red in the face and fuming, spouting expletive after expletive as he jogged to the ambulance doors--something that made Rose’s head pound even more, and she groaned in pain. 

Connor motioned something, and Hank’s anger immediately died down. 

“What happened, kid?” he asked, stepping aside as a paramedic android walked towards her with a medkit in hand. He raised a small flashlight to one eye, then the other, and she squeezed her eyes shut in discomfort. 

For a moment, she tried to think back on what had just happened--the android, the gun, the blood. But everything turned up blurry, and her thoughts turned to mush, and she couldn’t _think_ \--

“I can’t . . . I can’t--” 

“She has a severe concussion, Lieutenant,” the paramedic said, cleaning up the wound on the side of her temple with gentle strokes. “She won’t respond properly to any questions right now. She’ll need stitches for her temple, and she’ll need to be driven to the hospital so we can run tests to make sure there’s no internal damage that needs immediate attention.” 

Hank’s gaze softened in sympathy. At her side, Connor shifted closer, if only to comfort her more. Rose reached for Connor’s hand before she could think twice, squeezing tightly as the antiseptic was pressed against her wound. He squeezed back. 

All at once, a wave of nausea passed over her, leaving her hunched over and breathing hard. She was exhausted--she couldn’t think, and her ears were consistently ringing, and her head felt like it was going to _explode_ \--

“I’ll go with her,” Connor told Hank. A wave of relief rushed through her. 

Hank huffed in agreement and caught Rose’s eye once again. “You’ll be alright,” he promised, his voice gruff and somber. “We’ll take care of ya.” 

Rose hoped that was true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check out my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/haildoodles-writing) for more fics and updates!


	5. Chapter Four

In the hours following the incident, Rose wasn’t aware of much. 

The hospital visit was fairly brief, and she zoned out for most of the examinations--save the ten stitches they threaded into her temple, which stung through the numbing agents they gave her. But eventually, her pupils shrunk back to normal and she was able to steady her dizziness, and the nurses ended up handing her a list of instructions and a packet of food before sending her on her way. 

And throughout the entire time, Connor was by her side--silent but unmoving. Always watching her, monitoring, just in case. 

If her head didn’t throb so much and her ears didn’t ring sporadically, she would’ve asked how Connor had acquired Hank’s car, parked in the nearest stall to the hospital entrance. But she was much too exhausted for talking--and Connor seemed to catch on to that, choosing to help her into the passenger seat, start the car, and merge into the busting Detroit streets in silence. 

It took her much longer than usual to notice that he wasn’t driving her home, though. Instead, he passed by the townhouses completely, merging onto the freeway and heading towards the suburbs near the docks. 

“Where are we going?” Rose ground out, tilting her head slightly to face him. Her head shrieked in protest. 

“Hank’s house,” Connor replied with a small shrug-- as if it were obvious. He flicked his gaze over briefly as he merged towards the freeway exit, slowing to a stop before turning. 

“Hank and I both agreed to watch over you tonight,”  he continued when he noticed her confused gaze. “Just until you’re completely stable.” 

Rose nearly protested. Her father would be wondering where she was, likely frustrated at her absence--

But then her head throbbed again, and she realized that facing her father in the state she was in would be the last thing she’d ever want to do. 

“. . . Thank you,” she eventually said. Connor sent her a soft smile in response. 

The ride to Hank’s house was fairly quiet after that, and Rose ended up dozing off a few times before the car came to a steady halt. From her drowsy state, Rose glanced up to see take in the house--and after years of not visiting, Rose wasn’t surprised to see that nothing had really changed. Something warm and comforting stirred in her chest at that. 

“Welcome home,” Connor breathed, flicking the key out of the ignition. 

_ Home _ . 

Her throat seized up. 

But Connor didn’t seem to notice her hesitation, and he slipped from the driver’s side and ran around to help her out. And then he was helping her up the porch steps, one hand holding her elbow and the other brushing against the small of her back. _ Mother hen _ .

He opened the door as quietly as he could, revealing the dimly-lit interior--and a giant ball of fluff near the entryway began to bark, shooting towards the door with a wagging tail. 

“ _ Sumo _ , down,” Connor called sharply--but Sumo was already at Rose’s feet, rubbing against her legs and smacking her hip with his tail. Rose’s head shrieked from the sudden noise--but she bit it down, choosing to crouch down and kiss the old dog on the snout. 

“Hey sweetheart,” she greeted, pressing her cheek against the side of his face. Beside her, she could see Connor stepping forward to try to push Sumo to sit--but Sumo couldn’t seem to hold still, his butt wiggling too much for Connor to move him at all. 

A sharp snap sounded from the kitchen and Sumo whipped his head around, immediately calming down. 

“Sumo,  _ heel _ ,” Hank called from his place at the kitchen table. He was already dressed down, wearing a baggy sweatshirt and pants with his hair pulled back into a small bun. He took a large gulp from his cup-- _ water _ , she noticed, not his usual choice of beer--before turning to her with a grimace. 

“Sorry about that, Squid. Been too long since the old pup’s seen ya’.” 

Rose chuckled as she stood--but then a sharp pain sliced through her head again, and her grin died out. At her side, Connor stepped closer. 

Distantly, Rose could hear a soft sigh. “Go get some rest,” Hank said softly. “You can stay in Connor’s room for the night. Isn’t like the boy  _ sleeps _ anyways,” he added. He made a fair point. 

Connor merely shrugged in response and turned to Rose. “Hank’s right,” he spoke. “You’ll need to rest as much as possible over the next few days.” 

If she was more aware, she would have fought him on it--it was  _ Connor’s _ room, after all, and she didn’t want to intrude on that--but exhaustion plagued her every nerve, and all she wanted to do at that moment was collapse. 

Connor quickly caught on to her behavior and bid Hank--and Sumo--goodnight for them both before leading Rose down the hall. She followed as he guided her to the garage by the small of her back, nearly stumbling over her own feet in the process. 

Since downsizing to a one bedroom house nearly a decade ago, Hank had long since refurbished the garage and turned it into a spare bedroom. Years prior, it used to be Cole’s, covered floor to ceiling in drawings and posters--but now, the room was . . .  _ emptier _ , with little to no decoration. Against the farthest wall was a queen size bed, dark sheets perfectly made and pillows flawlessly assembled, with a window next to it. There was a wooden desk and a dresser against one wall, and a TV and stand opposite the bed. And had it not been for the papers spread across the desk, a jacket draped across the chair, and a few nicknacks and books on the shelves, Rose would’ve assumed Connor never used the room at all. 

Connor let Rose look around the room as he stepped forward to the dresser and pulled out a few items of clothing. 

“Do you ever use this room?” Rose ended up asking. She slowly made her way towards the bed before her legs could give out from exhaustion, careful not to disturb the sheets too much. She ran a hand over the covers, feeling how cold--and frankly, stiff--it was.

“Sometimes,” Connor said as he turned around, setting the clothes at the foot of the bed. “I used to spend the nights in the living room with Sumo, but Hank demanded that I have this room and ‘act like a human being,’ in his words.” A smile pulled at his mouth. 

Rose snorted at the comment. Knowing Hank, his words were probably a little harsher than that--but he meant well and he wanted Connor to have a relatively normal life, and Connor knew it. 

Separating the pile of clothes into two, Connor offered one stack to her. “I have some spare clothes that you can sleep in,” he said, having handed her a sweater and sweatpants. She took them gingerly, hesitating--but if he noticed, he didn’t mention it.

“I’ll leave you to change,” he said, his own clothes tucked underneath his arm--and then he was gone, slipping into the hallway and closing the door behind him. 

For a minute, Rose just sat there, staring at the fabric in her hands. But then her eyes began to droop and she nearly fell backwards from exhaustion, and she forced herself to stand and change. The sweater wasn’t as big as she was expecting--but Connor wasn’t necessarily a  _ large _ man by any means--and so the clothes ended up fitting her alright, despite having to roll up the sweatpants quite a few times to keep herself from tripping on the ends. But eventually, she was dressed, and she collapsed back onto the bed again. 

Unsurprisingly, though the clothes were Connor’s, they didn’t necessarily  _ smell _ like him. Androids didn’t have a natural scent like humans did, anyway--but still, they were warm, and they were  _ his _ , and Connor had offered them--and his room--to her without thinking twice. He cared. 

And despite how much she fought it, Rose felt her throat tighten up at the thought. She was in a warm house on a comfortable bed and dressed in soft clothing--and more than anything, she felt  _ safe _ . 

_ Welcome home _ , Connor had said earlier. 

Rose’s eyes began to burn. 

A soft knock shocked her out of her reverie, though, and Connor slipped through the door when she called him in. He himself had changed, and was now dressed in a black cotton sweater and fitted pants. It wasn’t until then that Rose fully processed that she had never seen him out of his work clothes before. 

“You wear pajamas?” Rose blurted out. She swallowed thickly at the sight of him, and tried really,  _ really _ hard to keep herself from becoming flustered--

Connor breathed out a chuckle. “Another one of Hank’s ideas,” he said. He walked towards her until he was by her side again, and the bed dipped as he sat down. 

For a moment, Rose simply watched as his LED flickered. His mouth opened and closed a few times, as if he were trying to find the right words, and Rose waited. She knew what he was going to ask. 

“About earlier today . . .” he began before trailing off. It was obvious he didn’t know exactly how to go about it--he was a trained negotiator, after all, but she knew he didn’t want to interrogate her. He didn’t want to act like he was on the job. 

“You want to know what happened,” she finished. She blinked a few times, trying to wipe the sleep from her eyes. Connor immediately picked up on that, his stare flicking back and forth between her eyes. His LED spun yellow. 

“We can talk about this tomorrow, when you’re more stable--”

“No,” Rose cut him off gently. “Might as well do it now, I mean.” Connor looked as if he was going to protest, but he fell silent at her expression. 

If she was honest with herself, forcing herself to think back on earlier made her headache worsen and her sight spin. She didn’t remember much, and what she  _ could _ recall was blurry--but still, she had to get it out.

She said as much. “Everything’s . . . everything is a bit hazy,” she admitted. Next to her, Connor remained silent--but he slowly moved his hand forward and rested it against the sheets between them. Just in case she needed it. 

“I remember feeling like I was being followed again, and then I started running back towards the park. But then something caught me--some figure, some  _ thing _ \--” 

She winced as her temple throbbed. Connor moved his hand even closer now, his LED blinking yellow in concern. 

“What do you remember?” he asked quietly--gently, as if approaching a spooked fawn. She forced herself to think back, through the fog and the mess of her thoughts--

Flashes of white and silver skin plagued her mind. 

“I remember white,” she said, her voice beginning to shake. “And metal. And they had gloves, and a hoodie, and-and--” 

Connor tugged her hands from her lap and cut her off, squeezing her palms until she looked at him again. “ _ Hey _ , hey,” he soothed. “I won’t ask anymore questions. You don’t have to worry about it anymore.” His thumb ran over the back of her hand in small circles. 

Something in her prodded at her thoughts, reminding her that this was just his social protocol codes taking over. He was just trying to lower her stress levels, trying to comfort her in her panicked state. 

But she was tired, and his touch was warm. She didn’t care. 

Connor’s voice pulled her from her thoughts, forcing her drooping eyes open once more. “You need to rest,” he reminded her, and then quietly moved from the bed as Rose slipped under the covers. And as she turned on her side to avoid pressing on the stitches, she noticed he didn’t leave. Instead, he slowly walked over to his desk before sliding into the chair, flicking off the lamp and shuffling through the paperwork in the darkness. 

“You don’t have to stay with me, you know,” Rose ended up whispering, her eyes already growing heavy. 

Through the dim street light shining through the blinds, Rose saw his gaze flick to her. “I’ll need to wake you up periodically throughout the night,” he murmured, “Just to check on your condition. I’m fine filling out paperwork here.”

But Rose’s eyes were already slipping closed and her breathing evened out, and his words fell flat onto the carpet between them. 

* * *

Rose woke up with a start. 

It took a moment for her vision to come into focus, for her brain to settle down and her heart to slow its thrumming. But all she could think of was white skin, and flashing pain at her temple, and a scratchy, sharp voice--

“ _ Rose _ ,” a voice called--and then a hand was on her shoulder, and a yellow LED appeared in her periphery.  _ Connor _ . 

Without thinking, she immediately sat up, grasping at his sides as he kneeled against the bed. It was then that she noticed she was sweating, and her left temple burned from her scrunching up her face in fear. And she couldn’t control her breathing, and she began to grow lightheaded--

A hand cupped the side of her face. “Breathe,” Connor comforted, and then he removed his hand to tug her fingers from her lap, pressing it against his sternum. A soft, warm hum sounded beneath her palm. His thirium pump.

Noticing her gaze, Connor visibly shrunk. “My research showed that feeling a heartbeat helps soothe a person during an anxiety attack,” he said. He seemed almost . . .  _ bashful _ about it, and he removed his hand. 

“But I don’t necessarily have a pulse, so I thought that my thirium pump would work--”

Rose released a breathy chuckle, finding it easier and easier to breathe. “It works, Connor.” She let him take a moment to scan her vitals, just to prove her point. His distraction, though clumsy and awkward, calmed her down. It was cute. 

He steadily leaned back and away from her as she sat up, sleep completely wiped from her. A quick glance to the nightstand clock showed her the time: 6 am. She remembered being woken up from a dreamless sleep once before before falling unconscious again--but that had been a while ago, it seemed. 

“Would you like to talk about it?” Connor asked. His stare brushed over her face, taking in her expression as she winced. 

She thought back on what had woken her--the streaks of white teeth, blue drenching her fingers--

“It wasn’t anything new,” she whispered, gazing at the wrinkled sheets. Connor nodded somberly. 

But then her mind began to twist. “Do you . . . did you figure out who it was?” 

Anxiety flared in her chest as Connor paused--he knew. 

And for a moment, she wasn’t sure if she  _ wanted _ to know. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to be told who that android was that walked on all fours, that made her temple burn and her hands begin to tremble--

“Yes,” Connor said. “Corvus scanned the crime scene and analyzed the blood as soon as we left.” She noticed that his LED was spinning yellow, blinking brightly. He was stressed. 

“Who was it, Connor?” Rose’s voice grew thick. 

And then Connor looked to her, his eyes gauging her expression as he paused. 

“Connor--”

“It was another RK-800 model,” he said, his voice so low that Rose barely caught it. “Model -55.” 

_ Another RK-800 model.  _

Rose stopped breathing. 

“But I thought they were called back to CyberLife,” Rose insisted, fighting through the pain in her chest, the pounding in her head--

“They were,” Connor said slowly. His LED was back to blue, but his gaze fell to her shoulder--avoiding her eyes.

“Nines managed to hack into CyberLife’s stored intel a few hours ago, and he found that only three of them returned to be deactivated. Besides Corvus, four others went missing.” 

Four. And only  _ one _ of them had attacked Rose--

Suddenly, everything became clear. 

“That’s why you brought me here,” she breathed. “To protect me.” 

Connor hesitated. “Hank and I still wanted to watch over you and make sure you were alright, but we wanted you to be near us, just in case--”

“Just in case the other three came,” she finished. 

“We don’t know if they’re a threat,” he spoke. And though it was true, it didn’t do much to soothe Rose. Her anxiety was already spiking. 

“Why _ me _ , then? Why not go straight for you, or for Hank, or--” She cut herself off when her head throbbed. 

It would’ve made sense, had the RK gone straight for Hank. The lieutenant was like a father figure to Connor, the closest person to him. However, Rose was just . . .  _ Rose _ . She had no strong connections, no important information. Her ties to the city were loose. What would they want with  _ her _ ?

“. . . I don’t know,” Connor admitted. And for a minute, he just sat there, his LED spinning furiously, and Rose immediately felt an ache in her chest. She knew that Connor hated not having the answers, not having an immediate solution to the world’s problems at his fingertips. Connor hated  _ not knowing _ . 

Slowly, carefully, Rose lifted her hand and placed it on his forearm. He nearly jumped at the touch, having been so lost in his thoughts. 

“You’ll figure it out,” she promised. He didn’t seem too convinced. 

But he remained quiet anyway, eventually glancing at the clock before turning towards the garage window. Through the chain link fence, the sun began to rise, reflecting off the dock water and turning the sky lavender.

“Sumo will be up soon,” Connor said softly, changing the subject, “and we need to treat your cut.” His LED still fluttered, and his expression was pained--but Rose didn’t push it. She didn’t want to pester him, to prod at an open wound that he didn’t know how to fix. 

She watched as he stood and smoothed out the folds in his sweater before turning. His expression was wiped clean of his worry--but his eyes told otherwise, and Rose could see right through it. 

“Let’s go get breakfast, yeah?” she said instead. And it was if Rose swiped a hand through the tension in the air, forcing it to flee out the cracks in the doors and the slits in the window, because Connor visibly lightened. 

“Yeah,” he said. His LED was steady. 

“Breakfast.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check out my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/haildoodles-writing) for more fics and updates!


	6. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say that i'm so, so sorry for my lack of updates. I had a really big application be rejected a few weeks ago, and that really just threw me into a spiral, so I haven't had the motivation to really do anything lately. I'm pushing through the writer's block, though. Slowly but surely.   
> I'm going to start shifting the weekly updates to Sundays instead, as I'll have a lot more time during the weekend to make final edits for the chapters and I can make sure I'm updating consistently. Again, thank you all so much for reading, your comments keep me motivated and make my day. Love you all! <3

Corvus  was in the kitchen and already preparing breakfast when Rose rounded the hall corner. 

By the quiet thumping she heard as she and Connor walked through the garage door, she thought it was Hank bustling around down the hall. Needless to say she was surprised to see Corvus at the stove, cracking an egg over a heated pan in the dim morning light. She was confused by his presence at first--but the more she thought about it, though, the more it made sense. As far as she knew, he didn’t have a place to stay yet. It would have been better for him to stay with Hank and Connor than remain at the station all night. 

She wondered how long he had been there. 

“Good morning,” Corvus smiled, greeting both Rose and Connor as he tossed the eggshells in the garbage bin. The room smelled faintly of toast and bacon--likely what was on the counter by Corvus’ side, covered by some paper towels to trap the heat . Sumo was already awake and sitting by him expectantly, begging for scraps. He gave a faint tail wag at Rose and Connor in greeting before focusing on the food again.

“Connor notified me that you were awake a few minutes ago,” he said, “so I thought it would be best to make you some breakfast.” 

If she was honest with herself, Rose had completely forgotten the whole mind-speaking thing that androids had. It was . . . weird. 

Rose’s head was already beginning to ache--and Connor picked up on it almost immediately, choosing to silently guide Rose to the kitchen chair before grabbing some Tylenol from a nearby cabinet. He was still dressed in his pajamas and padded across the floor with bare feet, and Rose couldn’t help but stare. 

The night before, she had fought to stay awake and consequently didn’t really process much. But now she was in a relatively stable headspace, and  _ very _ aware of whose clothes she was wearing, and who was leaning against the kitchen sink in baggy clothes as he fetched a glass of water. 

For a few minutes, everything was quiet, save the clicking of the stove flames and the running of the tap. And as she watched Connor and Corvus in front of her--both making sure she was alright, both taking  _ care of her _ \--she felt her throat close up. 

The  _ click _ of the glass cup being set in front of her snapped her from her reverie, and she looked up to see Connor sliding the pills onto the table. 

“I’m scheduled to go into work early,” he said. “I’ll be leaving in thirty minutes, if you’d like me to take a taxi with you.” And then he paused, stopping himself. “Or you can wait for Hank, if you’d like to stay here longer--”

She thought of her father, likely confused and frustrated at her absence. She didn’t  _ want _ to go home . . . But she was certain that she had overstayed her welcome. She didn’t want to be a burden. 

“No,” she said, a small smile barely pulling at her lips. “It’s fine. I’ll go with you.” 

Connor looked satisfied at that, and gave her a small smile of her own. And then he lifted his hand and moved it towards the table, likely to grasp her own--

And then he clenched his hand and lowered it to his side, as if he was burned. 

Something in Rose’s chest twinged at that--but she knew it wasn’t his fault. She wasn’t in dire need of comfort, and his social protocols were likely dictating him to not touch her. 

She wished he didn’t follow his own code so much. 

Connor slipped past Rose quietly, mumbling a quiet excuse of going to get changed while she ate before he disappeared around the corner. His movements seemed . . .  _ off _ , awkward--as if the simple twitch of his hand sent him spiraling into a fog. 

She’d ask him about it later.

Instead of pondering on it further, though, she swallowed the pills thickly and turned her attention to Corvus as he slid the eggs, toast, and bacon onto a plate in front of her. She slid a hair tie from her wrist as she thanked him profusely--something he seemed to preen at, much to her amusement. Evidently all the RKs liked getting praised.

Stomach rumbling, she pulled her hair into a pathetic excuse for a bun before digging in. She nearly moaned as she ate her first bite--she hadn’t had a good breakfast in . . . well, who knows how long. Corvus remained at her side for a moment as she ate, likely checking over her vitals and making sure she actually  _ liked _ the food. 

She glanced up at him to offer her thanks again, but she noticed that he wasn’t looking at  _ her _ \--rather, the back of her neck. 

His LED blinked. “What is this from?” he asked, motioning to the exposed skin with a concerned look. 

Caught off guard, she dropped her fork to her plate before reaching back and rubbing the base of her neck--she didn’t  _ remember _ if she was wounded there--but then she felt the pinkish, horribly-healed vertical scar that ran from the base of her neck to her hairline, and she sighed in relief. 

“Just a bad surgery scar,” she answered, raising a piece of toast to her lips. “They had to fix a bone spur--and a weird lump in my brain too, I think. I got a weird circular scar on my head as well.” She pulled some hair from the crown of her head aside with her free hand to prove her point, revealing another pink, crude patch of skin.

Corvus’ LED blinked again, more rapidly this time. “How long ago was this?” he asked. He seemed . . .  _ confused _ ?

But Rose shrugged it off, not really bothering with it. “When I was around twelve, I think. I can’t remember much.” And she couldn’t--it was back when her mom was still around, a few months before she left for good. She remembered going to a pre-op somewhere downtown, and then a post-op a few months later. Everything between was blurry.

Corvus paused for a moment, but then shrugged. “That’s odd. It’s not in my records.”

At that, Rose chuckled and shook her head. “Maybe you RKs aren’t as omniscient as you think,” she quipped. Corvus huffed.

“Maybe so.”

But he didn’t necessarily seem bothered by it--more confused than anything--and left Rose alone to eat, opting to move to the living room and pet Sumo while they both waited for Connor. 

But after a few minutes for silence, Rose’s thoughts got the best of her. 

“Corvus?”

His head snapped up immediately from his place on the couch. 

“What . . .” she chewed on her cheek. “How long are you thinking of staying here?”

Corvus blinked slowly. “Well, I’m planning on leaving for the precinct with within the hour, after he wakes up--”

“ _ No,  _ not that,” Rose laughed. Of course he would immediately think that. 

“I mean, how long are you staying,”--she gestured to the house, to the street through the front window, to the docks visible from the kitchen--“ _ here _ ? In Detroit?”

Corvus evidently wasn’t expecting that question, because he paused for a minute as his gaze fell to the floor. His LED sputtered. 

“. . . I don’t know, actually,” he admitted. And he seemed to be thrown off--as if he never fully processed the idea of staying in the city. 

“I wasn’t needed in Salt Lake City anymore, so I just . . . left. Coming to Detroit made the most sense, but . . . I don’t know what I'm going to do.” 

His gaze flicked up to Rose’s again, and she expected him to still be confused--but no, he seemed . . .  _ content _ , almost. As if he had no idea what he was doing and he was completely fine with it. 

“Well,” Rose spoke up, cutting Corvus from his reverie, “Either way, I’m glad you’re here.” 

Corvus’ responding smile was  _ glowing _ . 

* * * 

Connor ended up calling for a taxi a few minutes later, leaving Rose to change back into her clothes, save the sweater--which was still stiff with faded blue blood, so Connor offered for her to just keep his nightshirt. 

And then they were off, bidding goodbye to Corvus--and Sumo--before sliding into the dimly lit interior of the self-driving taxicab. The car greeted them with its odd, stiff voice, and then they were off, leaving Connor and Rose to sit side-by-side in thick silence. 

Rose spoke up first. 

“Did I do something earlier?” 

She glanced over at Connor as the question spilled from her lips to see his eyes lower in confusion. 

“What do you mean?” 

She traced the stitching on the seat beneath her with the pads of her fingers. “I mean . . . at the table, you went to touch my hand--and I must’ve done something, because you acted odd afterwards, and--”

“Oh.” Connor paused. “That wasn’t you.” 

His LED was spinning now, blinking ferociously. Rose watched as he began to fiddle with his hands--his coin must have not been with him. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. Rose felt her throat thicken in anxiety. It wasn’t often that he tripped over himself. 

And then he spit it out. “Do you want me to touch you?” 

Rose almost laughed over his awkwardness, but she immediately swallowed it--because when it came down to it, he was concerned--worried that he was overstepping boundaries, worried that he was making her uncomfortable--

“Connor, you don’t have to ask,” Rose answered softly. 

“But what I’m doing is unwarranted, and I don’t want to risk making you uneasy--”

“ _ Connor _ ,” she chided gently. “Those codes are getting in the way, aren’t they?”

Somberly, he nodded. “They . . . they blare in my optics display until I push past them.” 

Rose’s eyes narrowed. “Why haven’t you gotten rid of them, then?” For other androids, eradicating their previous code completely seemed fairly easy, and it happened all at once. It still took time to learn, to figure out how to live without them--but still, the codes were  _ gone _ \--

“CyberLife designed me to be deviant-proof,” he admitted. His voice was subdued--something that made Rose’s chest clench. 

“Some commands just . . . haven’t seemed to fade.” 

_ Even after a year.  _

It made Rose sick. 

Slowly, carefully, Rose shifted and tugged a hand from his lap by his shirt cuff, turning it so his knuckles rested on his thigh and his palm faced the taxi roof. And then, with one finger, she traced the heel of his hand. His skin was warm.

“What about now?”she asked.

Connor stared at her for a moment, processing the lightest of touches on his palm. His hand twitched. 

“No,” he whispered. 

She added another finger, then a third, tracing the lines on the palm of his hand. Still, he shook his head. 

And then she placed her palm flat against his, slipping her fingers through his own until they were intertwined with his. 

Connor hesitated. His fingers were still extended.

“It . . . nothing happens when you’re initiating it,” he mumbled, his voice so quiet that Rose barely caught it over the rumble of the taxi cab. 

His fingers twitched as he slowly closed his fingers around her own. And Rose tried to ignore the thrumming in her stomach, the heat that was shooting up her arm--

“Now it is,” he whispered. His LED flickered yellow then--but he didn’t move, didn’t stop staring at their hands. 

Rose thought for a moment. “So what dictates when the code shows up or not?” 

“I can touch someone when it’s solely to help them,” he answered. “It’s . . .  _ harder,  _ when I don’t have a reason to do it.” 

_ It made sense,  _ Rose thought.  _ So that meant _ \--

“So yesterday, when you were holding me . . .”

“My social protocols took over,” he responded. “It was to comfort you.” 

She knew it. 

He held her, hugged her, clasped her hands in his so it would calm her down. Not because he  _ wanted _ to--

Deep down, she knew that he wouldn’t have touched her and held her so tightly if he  _ really _ didn’t want to. But Connor had an unending desire to solve the world’s problems, to smooth everything over as quickly as he could. 

Rose was hurting, and he could fix it, so he did. There wasn’t anything more to it. 

She hated how much that stung. 

She swallowed thickly, pushing words past the lump in her throat. “And now?”

At her side, Connor still stared at her hands--and she felt him squeeze his fingers against her own slightly. 

“Now I want to,” he confessed. And then she watched as he slowly unclasped his hand from hers, choosing to play with her fingers instead. His touch was soft, featherlight, gentle against her own hand. She felt it hard to breathe. 

She didn’t notice that they had arrived at her townhouse until the taxi beeped for the second time. It threw her out of her thoughts, out of her near schoolgirl-rapt attention to his movements. 

Out into the reality that she was home, and her father likely was as well, and that she couldn’t spend the rest of her life in a taxicab-shaped fantasy with her android. 

She tugged her hand free from his, ignoring his crestfallen stare as she did so. “I haven't thanked you . . . for yesterday,” she said. Thinking of all that had happened was enough to make her chest seize and eyes burn, and it would likely haunt her for a while--but still, Connor was there, at her side as she was tested and patched up and taken care of. He always was. 

She didn’t want to think about where she’d be if he didn’t show up at the end of the alleyway. 

“There’s no need to thank me,” Connor replied immediately, his expression baffled--as if he was shocked she would even say such a thing. “You were in danger. Of course I would come for you.” 

The words rang in her head. 

“Do you think they’ll come back?” she mumbled before she could stop herself, biting down on her lip. The thought nearly paralyzed her--but Connor would be there, right? Him and Corvus and Hank--

“There’s always a probability,” he whispered. She looked up to see him staring out the window past her shoulder, to the busy city streets outside. Eventually, though, he ripped himself from his thoughts and met her gaze. 

“But . . . no, I don’t think so,” he admitted softly. “Nines has been continually monitoring the case, and we’ve been scanning the city for any clues since last night. If anything happens, we’ll catch it.” 

For the most part, Rose was soothed by his words. Connor always analyzed evidence and facts before he made an opinion on something, supported by probabilities and percentages and whatever else was going on inside that quirky, beautiful brain of his. So when he told her that, she knew he meant it. 

The tablet screen near the front of the taxi beeped in warning, signaling that the car would continue on its route in less than a minute. The noise made Rose jump in her seat. 

“I should go,” she said begrudgingly, forcing her feet to move and her hand, still warm from his, to open the door. 

But before she stepped out, she turned to him one last time. “Thank you, Connor. For everything.” And when she smiled, she made sure it was real, that he knew just how much she was grateful for him. That he was  _ there _ . 

And then, throwing all caution to the wind and stifling the pounding in her chest, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his cheek.  As a show of her gratitude, as a reminder that his touch was welcome and warranted and  _ human _ . 

She caught a glimpse of his face--blue-hued and wide-eyed--as she exited, stepping onto the sidewalk as the taxi pulled away. 

And as she dragged herself up the steps to the front door and slipped her key into the lock, she swore to herself that she would help Connor break the codes that were holding him captive. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check out my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/haildoodles-writing) for more fics and updates!

**Author's Note:**

> check out my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/haildoodles-writing) for more fics and updates!


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